


Pockets Full Of Stones

by grimark



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Bad end, Brainwashing, Gen, M/M, Trespasser Spoilers, Unhappy Ending, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimark/pseuds/grimark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, he was told to join the Inquisition and get close to the Herald of Andraste, and that's what he's done.</p>
<p>The rest of the Inquisition is someone else's problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pockets Full Of Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the adoribull kinkmeme fill week!  
> Saarsala is the translation I cobbled together for ‘Dangerous Purpose’, one of the three branches of the Ben Hassrath. As far as I'm aware there isn't a canon translation, but if there is please let me know!

The Iron Bull has been on edge ever since the dead soldier turned up in the Winter Palace. Before that, really. There's something coming, he can tell. Even the reunion with his friends and comrades from the Inquisition, with his kadan, is not enough to calm his nerves. He sticks close to the Inquisitor, (for her protection- for the time being-) and focuses on the mission. One foot in front of the other, horns pointing up, and when you are given a job to do, do it to the best of your ability. It's what he's done his entire life.

"You seem distracted, Bull," says his kadan.

"This place gives me the creeps," he replies. This is consistent with the Iron Bull's wariness of magic.

"We will be out soon enough," his kadan reassures him.

He grins. "If I'm really brave and pretend I'm not freaked out by the weird magic mirror crap, will you wear that thing I got you when we’re back at Skyhold?"

"You mean the one you brought back from Val Royeaux?" asks his kadan.

"Yeah," he says, "with the little lacy bits up the side."

"Okay," says the Inquisitor, impatient but amused. "That's enough out of you two."

Conventional wisdom would advise him to take out the biggest threat first. Conventional wisdom would almost invariably identify the biggest threat as the mage. 

Ensuring the target is comfortable in your presence can help with that, if it can be done. An arm around the shoulders can transition very easily into a chokehold, a lover’s embrace into a snapped neck. 

Those weren't his orders, though. Years ago, he was told to join the Inquisition and get close to the Herald of Andraste, and that's what he's done. The rest of the Inquisition is someone else's problem.

"Hissrad, now, please!" barks the Viddasala. "Vinek kathas!"

Hissrad raises his battleaxe and does his duty. 

\-- 

He comes to in a hidden Antaam encampment. He doesn't recognise the area. With all the Eluvians around, they could be anywhere.

He's stretched out on a bedroll in what looks like a makeshift camp hospital. Someone has bandaged wounds he does not remember receiving.

He takes stock of his surroundings. There is another Qunari sitting near him, probably a healer, and several others lying on bedrolls in varying states of injury. When he sits up a little, he can see the Viddasala and some of the troops nearby.

"Oh, you're awake," says the healer. "The Viddasala would like to see you."

There is no indication that the Viddasala's going to come over there, so he heaves himself to his feet and goes to her.

"Viddasala, ma'am," he says, ducking his head respectfully.

"Hissrad," she says, "excellent work."

He doesn't know if she's talking about the fight back at the Darvaarad or his entire time in the South, but either way, he'll take it. He hadn't expected this mission to be a success, hadn't expected to be around to see it if it was. 

"What happened?" he asks. "I don't remember much of the fight."

"We sustained heavy casualties, but our main objective was achieved, thanks to you. With the Inquisitor dead, the Inquisition will collapse and leave a power vacuum in the south."

"What about the others in the Inquisitor's party? The bas saarebas? Was he- was it killed?" Bas aren't people, he reminds himself. Saarebas even less so.

"Shortly after you beheaded the Inquisitor, the bas saarebas knocked you out. A blow to the head with its staff, I believe. It and the little rogue killed several of our soldiers before the saarebas was neutralised and the rogue fled."

This doesn't tell him much at all. Neutralised could mean captured, or it could mean killed. It's not his place to care about which.

The Iron Bull allows himself the briefest moment to mourn, and then moves on. 

\-- 

Re-education is neither easy nor pleasant, but he emerges from it feeling like the new skin revealed by a sloughed-off scab. Most Qunari don't even need to be re-educated once in their lifetime, and he has submitted twice now. He wonders if that means he is stronger in his devotion or weaker.

They will probably reassign him after this. He's done his job well, but they sent South a warrior in his prime, save for the damage left by Seheron, and got him back older and wearier and missing an eye. 

He hopes they'll give him back to the Ariqun in some capacity, even if he's not suitable for active duty anymore. He's too smart to be wasted as a labourer, and too firm in his love for the Qun. It's all he's got.

_Hissera esaam Qun. Talan esaam Qun. Kost esaam Qun._

Hope is in the Qun. Truth is in the Qun. Peace is in the Qun.

They won't send him South again, that's for sure. People know who he is there now. He's kind of relieved about that. He'd gotten used to life down there, but building another cover from the ground up would be- well. It would be hard.

Maybe they'll send him back to Seheron. That'd be a laugh. 

\-- 

"We have given you back to the Ben-Hassrath,” they say. “You will be under the Saarsala branch. The Viddasala recommended you specifically.”

His new rank is Vidathiss. His new purpose, reeducating those that have strayed from Koslun’s path, and interrogating prisoners of war.

He will complete this purpose to the best of his abilities, as with anything else.

\-- 

They send him back to Seheron. 

They take a fair while to decide it, seeing as he left the island the first time a bit worse for wear. But he survived so long, he's had plenty of time to compartmentalise, he's been re-educated twice since then. He should do as well as anyone. Better than many of the fresh recruits, in fact, since he has experience there.

The Vidathiss is not sent to the front lines. He's too valuable an asset, and would be of better use elsewhere. He's a long way back in Qunari territory, stationed at an outpost called Rethsaam. Rethsaam includes barracks and a prison camp. This latter is where the Vidathiss will be doing most of his work.

They give him the rest of the day to get settled in, and then he's got his first interrogation.

His first charge is a captured Tal Vashoth. He used to be an ashaad, and then he was a bandit. Now he is a prisoner.

The Vidathiss has performed interrogations before, even though it's not strictly the purview of a Hissrad. Being re-educated twice also teaches you a couple of things.

They haven't given the Vidathiss much more training, so he relies mostly on his old tricks. A little bit of quamek, then starvation and sleep deprivation and long periods of silence, spent sitting and staring at the Tal Vashoth tied to a chair. He has been briefed on what his prisoner did, but honestly the specifics don't matter. All Tal Vashoth do terrible things to survive and to fight back, this one is no exception. He betrayed the Qun, and that is the worst crime of all.

The Vidathiss extracts information on Tal Vashoth groups' plans and positions. It will be cross-referenced with existing information and with the confessions of other prisoners, and handed over to the Arishok. However he does not think this one was bright enough to lie, not under that kind of pressure. The captive will be sent to a Viddathlok and dealt with there. Hopefully there will be some way he can still serve the Qun. If not, well, asit tal-eb.

He wonders about it a bit, about what sort of sickness of the mind could compel someone to forgo their ordained place and purpose, to not just run (like a coward, like a mindless fleeing animal!) but to turn and strike back against the way of life that had given you so much. That seems a terrible betrayal.

\--

Every week or so reinforcements will pass through Rethsaam on their way to the front lines- an Antaam kith, or a healer or a Ben Hassrath agent. Once there was an arvaarad with a saarebas. The latter case made everyone nervous. People don't like arvaarad much, and they like saarebas even less. Once they moved on again, it was as if the entire outpost breathed a sigh of relief.

When he's not doing his new job, the Vidathiss likes to keep his old skills sharp. He talks to everyone at Rethsaam. He's good at keeping up morale, and good at working out potential conflicts and catastrophes and averting them before they occur. 

It's not one of his duties these days, except in the aftermath of an interrogation, but sometimes he finds his hand itching to write a report. He wonders sometimes if they kept all his reports, Hissrad's reports, stored away in some archive back in Par Vollen. If they do still exist, he doesn't want to read them. It would be like reading the reports of any other hissrad, albeit an unconventional and overly casual one, and they would not tell him anything useful. Those reports were written by someone else.

Sometimes the Vidathiss trains with the soldiers stationed at Rethsaam. Time has passed, and he's a little slower and stiffer than he was, but he still is a formidable warrior. 

He borrows axes and warhammers, and the occasional massive broadsword. They are all very plain and utilitarian weapons. Less well-made than some he has handled. They also lack the little decorations and personal touches, like dawnstone inlay or a soft grip sized just right for his hands, or a maker's mark carved into the shaft, a small rune of 'D' for Dagna-

None of these things are necessary. The part of him that longs for them is a relic of a past life.

\--

Rethsaam is not big enough to have a tamassran assigned specifically for the sexual release of its inhabitants. Instead they must apply for dispensation to visit one of the more major bases, or wait until a travelling tamassran passes through. Fraternisation among the soldiers also happens. It goes against the Qun, but out here, like many things, it’s politely overlooked.

There is a travelling tamassran here now, doing the rounds of the nearby bases and encampments. Even weapons of the Qun have other needs. She will be there for not quite a week, and the Vidathiss has been advised by Rethsaam’s healer that he should visit her during that time.

He isn't sure he wants to. It's been a long time since he’s fucked or been fucked. He hasn't felt the need.

The sun hangs heavy in the sky when his appointment rolls around. He has bathed carefully, and brought a little of his meagre supply of tea leaves to share with the Tamassran, to honour and thank her for her service.

She can tell he’s uncomfortable, in a way he hasn't been since his first visits as a stubby-horned adolescent. She gentles him with her hands, and he submits. Once again, he does his duty.

The Tamassran is beautiful, he can recognise that in a distant sort of way, although it’s not the sort of thing he's supposed to notice anymore. She bucks and rolls above him, and he holds still. His mind is elsewhere.

There are sturdy brown thighs braced across his hips, a clever mouth dropped open in bliss. He tries to focus on the now. A hand, too small for a Qunari, rakes stubby nails down his chest. 

He doesn't want these thoughts but they come to him anyway.

His kadan, his burning heart, fierce and fragile and full of hope. The Iron Bull ever so carefully removed his own tender, trusting heart from his chest, as though he could carry on without him, and left him to the mercies of those who couldn't know his worth.

_Maraas shokra, kost esaam Qun,_ he tells himself. _Kost, kost, kost-_

The Qun has asked a great many things of him throughout his life, and not a one has been easy.

“Thank you,” he tells the Tamassran, as he dresses himself to leave. He will not feel at peace until he is alone again.

\--

"Vidathiss," the Karasten greets him. "I've received word there will be an arvaarad passing through in three, maybe four days' time, bringing two saarebas."

"Noted," says the Vidathiss.

"The soldiers find you reassuring. It would be a great help if you made sure they knew not to be afraid."

The Vidathiss will do so, even though it feels like a lie. Each and every person stationed at Rethsaam is right to be afraid of the saarebas. They are dangerous. To let down your guard around one is to welcome pain and destruction.

The Vidathiss will make sure everyone is calm enough that normal life continues uninterrupted by their visitors, but he will remain wary.

\-- 

The Arvaarad is tall, curly-horned, brown of skin and eye. He is severe in the way most arvaarad are. One of his saarebas is likewise brown, the other grey. 

When he looks closer, the Vidathiss observes that the brown-skinned saarebas is a human. Viddathari or a captured bas, he wonders. When it comes to saarebas, the line is slightly blurry. There are many who are of the opinion that saarebas cannot be true Qunari- even willing converts, even those born under the Qun.

The Vidathiss does not agree with this. There is a space for everyone under the Qun, for them to improve the whole, to achieve purpose and fulfilment. He must believe this. It must be true.

It is clear that the human saarebas is not a willing convert after all, from the unfocused look in its eyes and the stitches in its mouth. Quamek, then, probably a lot of it. This saarebas must be a useful tool, to make the danger and the effort worth it.

They are on their way to the front line, to fight the Tevinter dathrasi. The demand for saarebas has increased, he hears, in order to counter the Tevinter battle mages. 

The Arvaarad and the Saarebas are going to stay the night and move on early the next morning. They sleep in the same room, and briefly enter the mess hall to eat. The Arvaarad has the same thing as all the other inhabitants of the barracks, bread and stew. Both of the Saarebas have enough slack in their stitches to sip a thin broth.

Afterwards, they retire. For the rest of the afternoon and evening the inhabitants of Rethsaam are tense and uneasy. The Vidathiss reassures them as best he can, but it is difficult, when he is perhaps the most uneasy of them all.

\--

The Vidathiss has woken early and restless. He goes outside to practise unarmed combat on one of the training dummies. He will work himself into bloody knuckles or exhaustion, whichever comes first.

A scouting party returns from their overnight watch. This is the point at which the Arvaarad exits the barracks, both Saarebas following. He goes to speak with one of the ashaad, presumably about terrain and conditions.

The Vidathiss leaves them to it. He punches the dummy and minds his own business.

When he looks up, he sees the human saarebas has come over to watch.

“Shanedan,” he says cautiously.

The Saarebas cannot reply, but it bows its head in a polite greeting. Its bare chest is thin and scarred. He can see its ribcage expand as it draws in a breath.

It looks at him. Its eyes are unfocused and sleepy with quamek. The irises are stormcloud grey beneath heavy lids. It looks at him, and he wonders what it sees.

The Saarebas reminds the Vidathiss of someone who was important to him, sometime in a previous life.

“They took my tooth,” he says. “When I went in for re-education, they took my dragon’s tooth from me.”

The Saarebas continues to gaze at him steadily. It's impossible to tell how it feels about this news, if anything at all.

“I wish they’d let me keep it,” he says. “I'm sorry. This isn't how I thought things would be.” The words seem so inadequate. His Tama named him Ashkaari, thoughtful one, but all sensible thought seems to have fled.

The Saarebas reaches out a manacled hand to him. He suppresses an instinctive flinch, but he is outside its reach. The chains pull taut.

It draws its hand back and places it against its chest, over the sternum.

“Kadan-” the Vidathiss begins to say.

“Saarebas!” That's the Arvaarad calling, having finished his business with the scouts and finally noticed his wayward charge.

“My apologies, Vidathiss,” says the Arvaarad, hurrying over, the other Saarebas trailing in his wake.

“It is of no concern,” says the Vidathiss.

The Arvaarad and the two Saarebas go to leave. “Panahedan,” says the Arvaarad.

“Panahedan,” the Vidathiss replies. “Kost esaam Qun.” _Kost, kost._ If only.

The human Saarebas glances briefly back over its shoulder, before turning to follow its Arvaarad, and its duty.


End file.
